Three Of A Kind
by JoBabeAlly
Summary: Molly walks in on John and Sherlock in an intimate moment...three different times, three different AUs. Jollock, consensual polyamory. Don't like, don't read. Please.
1. Molly Walks In

_Author's Note: Thought I'd take another stab at the Jollock universe, but with a bit of an additional twist. This will be a series of three stories in which Molly walks in on John and Sherlock in an intimate moment. In this version, she is not expecting what she walks in on; the other two stories will feature her walking in and either John or Sherlock being surprised by her presence. In other words, two of the three participants will always be in the know. Enjoy, and remember, I own only the plot, filthy as it is._

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**Molly Is Surprised**

"Sherlock, it's me, I brought the biohazard containers...you…wanted…"

Molly's voice fell silent, squeaking a bit on the last word as she took in the unexpected sight that greeted her upon her entrance to the Baker Street flat. John, sitting naked, legs spread, on the sofa. Sherlock, kneeling between his flat-mate's legs, sucking enthusiastically on the shorter man's cock.

Oh God. Why hadn't she knocked, why hadn't she peeked before just breezing into the flat like she owned the place? Worse, why weren't her legs moving, why wasn't she babbling an apology and backing out of the room and slamming the door shut behind her? _Why had Sherlock specifically told her to arrive on the dot of seven if this was going to be what she walked in on?!_

Both men were looking at her, Sherlock popping his mouth off John's dick with an almost casual motion, although John groaned a bit at the sudden lack of contact.

And that was it. All the reaction her presence provoked. No shouts of indignation, no hurried movements to cover up their nudity, which she'd have expected at least from John; no flushes of embarrassment or angry glares for her intrusion.

In fact, if she could characterize the expressions on the men's faces, she'd have to call it…expectation? Anticipation, even?

She felt a flush go over her skin at the way her thoughts were turning while the three of them just stared at one another in silence. No, it couldn't be; surely he hadn't called her here just so she could walk in on exactly what she'd walked in on…or had he?

Sherlock's slow smile confirmed her growing suspicions before his words. "Yes, Molly, we were rather hoping you'd find us in such a…compromising…position. Weren't we, John?"

John didn't speak, simply nodded and offered Molly a bashful smile.

"Your reaction – or rather, your lack of a negative reaction – speaks volumes," Sherlock continued as he rose to his feet. He was sporting a rather impressive erection of his own, and Molly found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his cock as he paced over to her and gently removed the plastic containers from her arms. He set them on the floor and took her by the elbow, steering her gently over to the sofa still occupied by a naked John Watson, who was idly stroking his cock and smiling as she allowed herself to be led to stand directly in front of him.

Sherlock stood behind her, and she shivered at the nearness of his presence, at the surreal situation in which she found herself. Did Mrs. Hudson know what Molly was going to find when she let her into the building? Probably not. She stifled a semi-hysterical giggle at the thought of the motherly older woman acting as passive procurer for her two tenants and wondered at herself for letting Sherlock move her around like a life-sized doll.

"I'm sure you've already deduced why we might have staged this little scene for you." She jumped a bit at the sound of Sherlock's voice, low and husky and just a shade deeper than normal, his breath against her neck stirring the hairs that had escaped from her pony tail. "Since you haven't turned and walked out, we're both rather hoping that means you're amenable to our plans for the evening."

With those words he pressed his body against hers, sliding his arms down to her hips and tugging her closely against him. Close enough for her to feel that lovely erection she'd been staring at only moments ago. Christ, when had her life turned into a pornographic film – and why wasn't she protesting any of this?

Because it was John and Sherlock, of course. She could never say no to the consulting detective and John was one of the nicest, sweetest men she'd ever met – although, come to think of it, now that she was directly facing him, there was nothing wrong with the way he was put together, either – his cock was thick and red and quite, quite delicious looking. She offered him a tentative smile, then moaned and rolled her head back as Sherlock's lips descended to the nape of her neck in a series of tiny kisses that sent shocks of electricity straight to her groin. "Say you'll stay, Molly," he murmured in her ear, and against all common sense, she groaned out a "God, yes!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth John jumped to his feet and pressed his body against hers, encasing her in a deliriously erotic "manwich" the likes of which she'd never even dared fantasize about. John was kissing her and unbuttoning her cardigan while Sherlock's lips nibbled at her neck as his hands undid the snap and zip to her khakis. She toed off her ballet flats, ridiculously pleased with herself for not wearing anything that laced or zipped, then stepped on the toes of her socks in turn and used her feet to pull them off as her trousers slipped down to her ankles. She stepped out of them, barely noticing that her knickers had been removed at the same time – at least, not until suddenly there were two hands sliding over her increasingly wet pussy.

Two hands, one from each of the men who continued to rub up against her and nibble and lick her face and neck. She was moaning like a complete wanton, reaching out with one hand to bring John's face closer to hers for deeper kiss. Her other hand was busy stroking Sherlock's erection, feeling it jolt and twitch beneath her fingers. God, she'd longed for this moment, and having John here made it even more arousing than she'd ever dreamed.

Once she was entirely naked – who had removed her bra and when, she had no idea – the two men entwined their arms around her waist and led her into Sherlock's bedroom.

Judging by the scene she'd walked into – how long ago? Minutes? An hour? Who knew? – she'd have expected it to be a shared bedroom, but no. There were no indications that anyone other than Sherlock regularly slept in this bed; only his clothes were visible in the wardrobe, only his toiletries on the dresser, his belongings strewn about. So John still had his own space...how long had this been going on between the two men? And when, she wondered, feeling a bit dizzy as they ushered her over to the bed and urged her to sit on its edge, had they decided they wanted to bring her into it?

All questions for later. Much, much later. Possibly never, if she lost her nerve when the time came. Certainly not for now, when John was easing himself into a kneeling position behind her, his hands squeezing and massaging her breasts as his mouth covered the territory Sherlock had been investigating with his tongue and lips. And certainly not when Sherlock was kneeling on the floor between her legs, a wicked smile on his lips as he gently pushed her knees open so she was spread out before him.

"My, John, I do believe Dr. Hooper is happy to be here," Sherlock purred as as he gently pried her lower lips apart. "She's already wet and we've barely touched her."

"So make her even happier," John murmured between kisses, his fingers rolling her nipples in a way that shot sparks straight to her crotch.

Sparks that promptly ignited into a conflagration when Sherlock's mouth descended upon her, his tongue raking her already-soaked folds, dragging a moan from her throat with every languid stroke. She dug her fingers into his hair, fingernails grazing his scalp as she kneaded him like a contented cat.

The sensation of having her pussy licked and kissed while at the same time having her nipples played with and neck kissed and licked was amazing, the most incredibly erotic thing she'd ever felt. John's erection was pressing against the cleft of her arse, hot and thick, another dizzying sensation to inflame her senses.

Like a switch had been flipped, Sherlock's ministrations went from slow and languorous to a frenzy of lips and tongue and – _oh God, yes, please, God, so good_ – fingers delving deep inside her, moving with a frantic rhythm, pressing deep inside her and wrenching a series of short, sharp cries from her throat.

John's kisses and licks became nips and sucking, hard enough to leave a mark – didn't Americans call them hickeys? – while his fingers pinched her nipples, hard, as she writhed and cried out and eventually screamed her pleasure as she came.

She collapsed back against John, panting and shaking while Sherlock remained between her legs, although he'd moved his mouth over to her thigh, pressing soft kisses there while she recovered from the mind-blowing orgasm she'd just experienced. How the hell had she gotten so lucky this late in life – not that she was an old maid or anything, but she was just past the 30-year mark – when her college experience had been limited to a single boyfriend and a few unsatisfying dates?

"So, Molly," Sherlock said as he rose to his feet, lifting Molly along with him. She groaned, just wanting to bask in the afterglow, her legs feeling like melted strips of taffy, but John was supporting her as well, rising to his knees and settling his hands on her hips. She leaned into Sherlock, who hummed appreciatively in her ear as her head came to rest on his shoulder.

She draped her arms loosely around his waist, reveling in the feel of his lanky form in front of her and John's more solid presence behind her. Both men were still quite hard, and it dawned on her as she came down from the pleasant buzz of orgasm that they had been lavishing all their attention on her since her arrival.

She felt a flash of guilt; she'd interrupted their tryst, and even though they'd both wanted her to join them, she didn't want them to feel some kind of obligation to her...

"Molly." She looked up, startled by Sherlock's stern tone of voice. He was frowning down at her and she felt a sudden flash of concern; had she done something wrong, something to piss him off... "Will you kindly stop doing that," he commanded, his frown deepening before abruptly vanishing, transformed into a soft smile so unlike the manic grins and false lip-stretches he so often gives that it set her heart to fluttering. "There, that's much better," he said, his voice equally soft, a thrumming purr that set an entirely different part of her body to fluttering. "You're not disturbing us or distracting us from anything; we want you here, we want you with us and for once in your life you are going to be the center of attention whether you like it or not."

"What Sherlock means," John added hastily, giving Molly's hips a comforting squeeze, "is that we want tonight to be all about you. And if you're willing to join us again after tonight," he added, sounding suddenly bashful, "we promise we'll let you decide on the, erm, agenda, as it were."

He trailed off, as if uncertain of his words, but Molly knew and appreciated what he was – what they both were – trying to say.

She simply nodded and accepted Sherlock's kiss, his lips touching hers with the tang of her sex on his tongue, bringing a shiver to her spine. She found herself clinging to his shoulders, suddenly dizzy as she realized this was her first proper kiss with Sherlock Holmes, the man she'd wanted for so fucking long. It was almost funny that she'd actually kissed John Watson first, but she had no regrets; he was a truly talented kisser.

Not quite as talented as Sherlock, but she could be a bit prejudiced considering how often she'd fantasized about the feel of his lips on hers. She leaned forward and kissed him again, winding one arm around his neck while dropping her other hand down to clutch John's wrist, pressing his arm closer to her body, not wanting him to feel left out.

"So, Molly," the doctor said between kisses to her ear and neck, "what do you fancy now, hmm? Sherlock had a few suggestions but I said we should ask you first."

"Whatever you want," was Molly's breathless reply as Sherlock's lips pressed against her neck, on the opposite side from John. She felt his laughter, a slight huff of breath as he pulled his head back and smiled, a dazzling smile that absolutely lit up his face.

"I told you, John, I told you Molly would be open to all sorts of possibilities!" His voice was positively gleeful, and suddenly Molly felt herself being spun around to face John. His smile had gone from bashful to avid, and Molly had a sudden flash of herself as Little Red Riding Hood with two wolves – or if the wolf was in league with the woodsman. She wondered if the other two were at all interested in role playing, then blushed at how wanton her thoughts had become.

"Say it out loud, Molly." That was Sherlock again; how could he tell she was thinking anything with his hands busy caressing her breasts and his lips on her neck? And what made him think she was even _capable_ of thinking anything under those circumstances? Especially when John decided to add his own hands and lips to the mix, kissing her on the same side of the neck as Sherlock...

Oh. Dear. God. They were nuzzling her and kissing each other; she could feel their hands touching as they both fondled her breasts...she was getting downright dizzy, how could she not under such delicious circumstances?

She blamed the dizziness, the overwhelming sensation of having both sets of hands on her – of the hot sheet of desire that flashed over her ever time she heard them kiss each other – for blurting out the words that had been on her mind, running them together in her sudden eagerness. "Littleredridinghood!"

"Mmmm, role playing, eh?" Sherlock purred. "John, would you mind being the woodsman who comes to her rescue? I rather fancy playing the role of wolf in this particular fairy tale."

She felt the doctor chuckle against her skin before kissing her ear and pulling back to look at her. "As long as I don't have to play Granny, it's all good!"

**oOo**

Five minutes later Molly found herself with in a bright red blanket draped over her shoulders, lying flat on her back as Sherlock growled: "The better to eat you with" before lowering his head between her legs and proceeding to do just that. She writhed and moaned, and moaned even louder when John Watson strode into the room, knelt down between Sherlock's legs and proceeded to "punish" the wolf for assaulting "Red Riding Hood" by shoving his well-lubed cock into the other man's arse.

The sights and sensations seemed to intensify in that moment; Molly felt her heart speeding speeding speeding as she cried out seconds before an intense, soul-shaking orgasm left her shattered and breathless – and seconds later, unconscious.

She awoke to the sounds of voices murmuring quietly on either side of her; John and Sherlock, she realized after a confused moment. What had…oh, yes. She'd come so hard she'd passed out. She'd read about things like that but never expected to actually experience anything like it. Wow.

"Molly? Can you hear me?"

She blinked her eyes, then opened to gaze directly into John's concerned face. "Oh, yeah, great, fantastic!" She beamed up at him, then turned her head when she heard Sherlock's quiet chuckle, facing him with a grin of her own. "My granny, what a big pickle you have under the sheets!" she quipped, a line she hadn't quite been able to bring herself to speak whilst pretending to be Little Red Riding Hood, although it had been the first thing to come to mind when she'd entered Sherlock's bedroom and found him lounging in his bed with only a thin sheet covering his midsection.

He groaned and glanced over at John. "I told her more than once, John, not to make jokes, but does she ever listen?"

John glanced over at his friend's face, then pointedly lower on his body before murmuring: "Well, she's right…"

Molly grinned as Sherlock mock-wrestled John off the bed and onto the floor, threatening to show him just how big his "pickle" would feel if he shoved it up his…

Molly joined them at that point. How could she not? This evening had started out embarrassing and awful and turned into the most fun she'd ever had in her life.

As for Sherlock's "pickle"?

Oh, it was big, all right, but once she joined in the wrestling match, the "wolf" won, beating the "woodsman" to her spread-eagled form – and showing her exactly how perfect a fit it was. She gasped and called out his name as he slammed into her; she'd needed no extra preparation, was already so wet and ready and aching for his cock that he could have been twice as large and she would have sworn he'd still fit.

And when John knelt behind Sherlock and once again slid his cock into his friend's arse, driving him deeper and deeper into Molly as the three of them found a rhythm that worked for them, she knew she would never be able to even think about having sex with another man. Not when the two of them were so willing to do the things to her she'd only fantasized about in the past.

God, she could hardly wait to see what happened next.


	2. Sherlock's Surprise

_Author's note: This is the second of my planned three stories of Molly Walks In On John And Sherlock In An Intimate Moment. Three different reactions from three different people…essentially the same story told three different ways: in each version, only one person is surprised while the other two know exactly what is going on. A further exploration of polyamory (not connected to my previous story, "Tryptych"). Includes M/M, M/F and M/M/F. Don't like, don't read. Proceed at your own risk. I own no one, just acting as temporary puppet master. Oh, and yes, I'm sure everyone is wildly out of character, but this is a PWP so please take that into consideration._

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**Sherlock's Surprise**

Sherlock Holmes was busily – and quite happily – sucking on his lover John Watson's cock when the door to their shared flat eased open. He could be forgiven for missing it, even with his sharp hearing, since he was fully involved in what he was doing. Also, John was moaning and swearing quite loudly at the time.

However, it was impossible for him to miss the sight of Molly Hooper sliding naked onto the couch next to John, or the way the other man threw his arm across her shoulder and gave her a rather sloppy kiss in greeting. "Mm, Molly, glad you made it," he murmured, much to Sherlock's surprise.

In spite of that surprise, he continued doing what he'd been doing, since it was clear that John had been expecting Molly – and that Molly was not only expecting to walk in on the two of them but apparently had been somehow enticed into joining them.

His eyebrows rose in a combination of surprise and interest when Molly slid off the couch and knelt down behind him, pressing her body tightly against his as he continued to bob his head up and down on John's glistening red cock, one hand cupping his bollocks every now and then just for the pleasure of hearing John's sharp intake of breath every time he did it.

Molly was kissing his neck now, a delightful series of soft, open-mouthed kisses from left to right and back again, her hands brushing against the curve of his buttocks and lower, teasing movements that he refused to allow to distract him. He'd started a job, by God, and he was not going to stop just because John and Molly had concocted a surprise like this. For him, no doubt; he'd been sleeping with both of them ever since his return from the dead, and although they'd agreed to share him, they must have decided at some recent point that they'd rather share him at the same time.

Lovely, fantastic; why hadn't he thought of such an obvious solution himself? Not that either John or Molly had complained about his insistence on being their only lover, or shown any signs of resentment for how he split his time with them, but still. Forming a threesome should have been obvious. He always missed something…

He gasped and nearly gagged on John's cock as he felt Molly's fingers teasing his rear opening, sliding between the cleft in his buttocks and rubbing gently. He and John had just started this evening's activities and so he was still tight and clean and oh GOD Molly was curled around his lower body now, her tongue darting out to taste him.

He groaned, still moving his head stubbornly up and down on John's cock, eliciting a marvelous growl of pleasure from the other man as he reached down and dug his fingers into Sherlock's dark curls. "Fuck, yeah, Sherlock, do that again!" he gasped as he widened his knees. "Christ, Molly, we should have done this months ago!"

That was enough; Sherlock was the one in charge of this relationship – these two relationships now apparently become one – and he wasn't about to stand for either Molly or John dictating to him how they were to proceed.

He was a selfish bastard, he'd willingly admitted as much when he'd first approached the two people he cared for more than anyone else in the world. He wanted them both, didn't want to share them with other lovers, demanded they sleep only with him from now on.

Miracle of miracles, they'd both agreed. Well, he'd always been certain of Molly's affections and sexual desire for him, but John had been more problematic. The other man had never so much as fantasized about being with anyone but women – the more the merrier – until Sherlock had "died."

After his return, when he and John were once again alone in the flat, John had jokingly admitted to missing Sherlock so much that he hadn't even been able to ask a woman out the entire year he was gone.

"Perhaps it's because it's not a woman you were wanting, John," Sherlock had purred, then leaned over (the two of them were sitting comfortably on the couch) and grabbed John's head, pulling him in for a heated kiss. A kiss that a very surprised John had returned after a few stunned seconds, just as Sherlock had deduced he would.

Sherlock had been forced to do a great many things he found distasteful during his year away; he'd been forced to kill, to torture, and to sleep with various lieutenants of Moriarty – male and female – in order to accomplish his self-imposed mission of dismantling his enemy's criminal network. However, the one good thing that had come out of it had been the realization that, now that his libido had been awakened from its long slumber (he hadn't fucked anyone since his second – and last – year at Harvard), he had no desire to put it back to sleep. In fact, all he could think about was returning and shagging both Molly and John senseless.

He'd already accomplished that goal with Molly before that first kiss with John, surprising her in the locker room at St. Bart's during the middle of her overnight shift. She'd gone to change out a stained pair of scrubs for a fresh set when he walked in, locking the door behind them and commencing to snog her silly against the bank of lockers before she could do more than breathe his name.

She'd known he was alive, of course, since she'd been the one to help him fake his death in the first place, but there were still tears in her eyes when they pulled back from the kiss, both of them gasping for air. She'd whispered his name and they'd had sex right there, up against the bank of lockers, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms clinging to his shoulders as she murmured his name over and over again. She'd come hard, shuddering and writhing, managing to remain locked around him as he reached his own climax a few hard strokes later.

He'd walked her home and spent the night. The next day he'd gone to see John and realized that it wasn't only Molly he wanted. When John finally relented and admitted that he wanted Sherlock as well, the arrangement between the three of them had been born.

Now it seemed the two special people in his life had come to another agreement; just as he'd slept with each of them separately without consulting his other sexual partner, they'd reached that decision and implemented it without his input. It was endearing and infuriating at the same time; was this how they had felt originally, in spite of their insistence that whatever he wanted was fine with them?

Well. Time to take things back under control. He wasn't into dominance games a la Irene Adler, but if this was how things were going to be between the three of them from now on, then he was determined to set the tone right from the start. He hid a grin as he instantly formulated his plan and just as quickly set it into motion.

Even as John urged Molly to continue her actions, Sherlock pulled his mouth away from the other man's cock and slipped his body out from between the two of them, leaving them both gaping up at him as he stood frowning down at them. "Sh-sherlock?" Molly was the first to speak, stuttering in sudden worry. "Is – is something wrong?"

"We thought…this seemed like the best solution," John chimed in, eyebrows indenting but not quite in a frown. No, he wasn't backing down, not that Sherlock actually wanted him to. Just wanted to remind them both who was in charge. Because obviously someone had to be. They were together because of him, weren't they? Yes, it was arrogant – but it was also true.

"I do wish you'd thought to consult me on the matter," Sherlock replied simply, crossing his arms as the other two exchanged worried glances. He kept from rolling his eyes, but only barely; honestly, his dick was still hard as a fucking rock, did they actually think he was about to bring things to a close, storm off in a pout? "Since you haven't, well, then I feel it's only fair that I get to dictate tonight's activities, hmm?"

The light was dawning; he saw the flash of relief in John's eyes as he stared up at him. "Oh, absolutely, I think we can all agree on that, right, Molly?"

She was grinning now, just as relieved as John – and just as eager, he saw, to do whatever it was Sherlock wanted. "Yes, of course, John." She knelt on the floor, hands folded in her lap and eyes demurely lowered, her loosened hair half-hiding her face. "Whatever you want, Sherlock."

He smiled, a slow, seductive smile as he reached down and tugged Molly's face up to meet his gaze, then turned to meet John's eyes. Which narrowed suspiciously. "No one's getting tied up, Sherlock," he said firmly. They'd established that particular parameter the very first time they'd had sex, and clearly John hadn't changed his feelings on the matter.

Unimportant; it wasn't what Sherlock had in mind, not for tonight, anyway. He was confident that between them, he and Molly could eventually bring John round. She quite enjoyed the occasional addition of handcuffs or silk scarves to their sexual escapades.

Sherlock cut off Molly's obvious intent to contradict John by finally giving in to the need to roll his eyes and saying, "No, John, no one's getting tied up." Then he glanced at Molly and added with another slow smile: "Not tonight, anyway."

The smoldering look she sent his way nearly had him pinning her to the floor right then and there, but this wasn't about him and her, it was about the three of them and he was determined to make their first time together as a threesome as memorable as possible. "My bedroom," he ordered, then turned on his heels and left the sitting room, not waiting for the other two, knowing they would be right behind him.

Molly was used to his "bossiness," as she called it, and John certainly saw that side of him frequently enough that he should get away with only a slight grumble of aggravation once they caught up with him.

Sure enough, as soon as John entered the bedroom he got right up in his friend's face and glared at him. "Sherlock, we're not children and we're not your pets," he said forcefully.

Sherlock cut him off with a kiss, one that was just as forceful as John's words. He heard Molly suck in her breath and give a slight whimper; surprised or aroused? He glanced over at her, saw her flushed cheeks and wide eyes – a bit of both then. Good. He reached over and grabbed her by the wrist, still thrusting his tongue into John's mouth, sliding his other hand down to grasp his buttocks even as he pulled Molly in so she was half between them.

He broke off the kiss and stepped back in order to press her more fully between the two of them, his eyes meeting John's as the other man grinned in understanding. "This," Sherlock breathed into Molly's ear as he ran his hands down her sides and anchored them on her hips. "This is what I want."

Molly was a virgin as far as anal sex went, but so had John been before that oh-so-memorable night after Sherlock's return. He'd bent him over the kitchen table, fingers lubricated with olive oil as he pressed first one, then two, and eventually three into John's lovely, tight arse in order to stretch him out a bit, just enough to accept Sherlock's condom-sheathed cock, also slathered in olive oil. Since then he'd purchased actual sexual lubricant, but the mere scent of olive oil could bring Sherlock to full erectness even now, months later.

John was kissing the other side of Molly's neck, his hands sliding over Sherlock's as he murmured: "Say yes, Molly, it'll be amazing." Then he pulled back a bit to gaze into her eyes with an expression of concern: "Unless this isn't quite what you had in mind?" He transferred his uncertainty to Sherlock. "We didn't really talk about what would happen…"

"No, John, it's fine," Molly rushed to reassure him, her hands, which had been roving over both mens' bodies, coming to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently. Sherlock left off caressing her while she spoke, paying close attention to how she was saying it as well as to what she was saying, reading the nuances as carefully as he would that of a murder suspect. If she was just doing this to make John happy, Sherlock would know and find some way to work it out. "I want to…it's something I've always thought about but never…" She was blushing; Sherlock watched the red spread across her neck and shoulders and imagined her face was the same shade; so hard to tell with her hair in the way but lovely to see even from this limited angle. "I just never found the courage…to ask," she ended in a rushed whisper.

She meant it. There was no forced brightness to her words like there was when she was just saying what she thought the other person wanted to hear.

Sherlock pressed a delighted kiss to her shoulder, then turned and hurried over to the bedstand, yanking open the drawer and pulling out the tube of lubricant and a condom. "We're all clean, we know we're all clean, but honestly, it helps the first time," John said, noting her doubtful expression as Sherlock placed the small foil packet on the top of the bedstand and shut the drawer.

Before she could ask what to do next, John gently guided her back to the bed. She settled on her side in the middle as he laid down to face her, stroking her cheek with his hand. She felt Sherlock settling in behind her, molding her body against his, reaching with one hand to ease her left leg up over John's.

The two men moved her as if they've done this a thousand times – and perhaps they had, although not with her. And not with each other, since John had been just a monogamous with Sherlock as she had been.

Whatever. She felt her stomach tightening and heart pounding with anticipation as John rubbed his fingers against the entrance to her pussy, kissing her deeply as Sherlock rubbed his lubricant-dampened fingers against her nether hole. As if they'd planned it, each man slipped a single digit inside her simultaneously.

She gasped and moaned at the sensation, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Yes, she'd had a finger up her ass once or twice – sadly, many years ago – but to be finger-fucked in both directions by two men...bliss. Absolute bliss. And truly filthy in a way that made her nipples harden and tingle even though no one was currently touching them.

Sherlock's lips were on her throat, her shoulder, the shell of her ear, and her breath caught in her throat as he whispered to her: "God, Molly, you have no idea how good you feel, so tight and slick...I can't wait to put my cock inside you, to let you feel me and John riding you at the same time..."

He fell silent as she dug her fingers into John's shoulders, whimpering with delight as he glanced over at Sherlock and cocked an eyebrow in a silent question. "Yes, John," Sherlock answered his unspoken question, still speaking in that husky whisper that raised goosebumps all over her body.

A second digit was inserted, one in front, one in back, and Molly gasped aloud, hitching her leg up higher over John's hip, tilting her head back to give Sherlock better access to her throat. He nipped at her pulse point, not seeming at all discommoded by his position behind her, his fingers steadily pumping in and out of her ass, the delightful burn easing as she grew used to the sensation.

"One more finger each, Molly, then you'll be ready for us," Sherlock left off nipping at her to breathe in her ear. She could only manage a strangled moan in response, inarticulate with want, writhing between the two men, helplessly tossed in a storm of pleasure.

She gasped and nearly levitated off the bed as Sherlock added a third finger, first slowing and then gradually speeding his movements. John's hand slid out of her cunt and she grunted in frustration at the sudden emptiness inside her, but her eyes widened and then flew shut as she felt him sliding his sopping wet fingers across Sherlock's. "Just a little extra lubrication," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her deeply.

Her lips parted beneath his, and she accepted his tongue in her mouth, tangling it with hers, as their lips crashed together in sudden urgency.

Then, just as she was beginning to truly enjoy the way Sherlock was moving against her, he slid his fingers out of her arse. John took that as a signal to raise her hip and guide his cock deep into her waiting wetness, still kissing her as if she were the only oxygen he would ever need.

She heard the sound of a foil wrapper being torn open, felt Sherlock move slightly away from her, smelled the jasmine-scented lubricant being applied and braced herself for his entry.

He slid into her with only a slight hesitation as she forced her muscles to relax and allow the penetration. John hadn't done more than simply enter her, waiting patiently for Sherlock to position himself and for Molly to gasp out her readiness.

The two men did all the work, and she reaped the delirious benefits of being fucked front and back at the same time. Sherlock reached around to play with her nipples, John kissed and nipped at her lips, and she lost herself entirely in the moment.

Her orgasm came much quicker than she'd ever experienced outside of oral sex; she cried out, going rigid as the two men continued to pulse in and out of her, faster and faster until with a combination of hoarse cries and swears, they joined her, climaxing with seconds of one another.

When they'd disentangled themselves and were lying on their backs recovering, Molly smiled first at John, then turned her head to smile just as brilliantly at Sherlock. "We didn't think you'd be upset if we decided to share each other as well as you," she said in a low voice, reaching up to brush his sweat-dampened curls from where they'd drooped onto his face.

John rolled up onto one elbow, reaching over Molly, to stroke Sherlock's arm in a loving caress. "You're an unconventional man, Sherlock, and it was already an unconventional arrangement, so we decided to go for it. Surprise you."

Sherlock's smile was as genuine and as unforced as his words as he replied: "That's why I love you both so much. You never stop surprising me."

Molly and John gaped at each other for a long moment; had Sherlock actually said what they thought he'd said? Each had privately resigned themselves to never hearing those words from him, and here he was, revealing his feelings as casually as if he did it every day.

Molly sat up, very carefully moved so that she was on Sherlock's side of the bed, then nudged him closer to the middle, the spot she'd just been occupying. When he was comfortably settled between his two lovers, they immediately started plastering him with kisses, murmuring their own love to him as they petted and stroked him back to full arousal. John's mouth descended on his cock while Molly lay by his side, kissing him, sucking on his long, aristocratic throat, peppering him with love bites while continuing to assert her feelings for him in between.

He came with a shout, overwhelmed by the attention the two were paying him, the way they virtually – and oh-so-delightfully – attacked him.

When they were once again lying next to one another, Sherlock's arms around John and Molly's shoulders while their heads rested on his chest, he mumbled: "I'll have to tell you how I feel more often, if this is how you react."

John snorted in laughter, Molly smiled sweetly and pressed a kiss to his lips, and the three slipped into a contented, thoroughly exhausted sleep.


	3. John's Turn

_Here it is, the last installment in this experimental trilogy. Hope you like it, and all disclaimers still apply. Remember; Consensual polyamory so if you don't like, don't read. :)_

* * *

**John's Turn**

John Watson was in some bizarre combination of Heaven and Hell, and it was all his friend and flatmate Sherlock Holmes' fault. The man was irritating, frustrating, terrifyingly intelligent – and something John had never thought to notice in another man – amazingly fucking sexy.

He could never pinpoint the exact moment his feelings for Sherlock had changed from friendship to love to physical attraction – well, they hadn't progressed from A to B to C so neatly, since he still felt the first two, with the third being a very confusing icing on the cake. Or torment, depending on John's mood.

Right now, it was the usual combination. Sherlock had been back from the dead for nearly six months and exactly two months ago the sexual tension John had been feeling had finally been relieved, as the two of them, immediately after successfully – and quite literally – running down a criminal and handing him off to Lestrade, had returned to their shared flat and somehow or other ended up in a passionate embrace.

Fast forward four months and John and Sherlock were involved in an exclusive sexual relationship...and John was completely knotted up inside. Oh, not so much because he'd acted on homosexual stirrings he'd never felt before – ever – and still didn't feel for any other man besides Sherlock, but because he missed having sex with women.

Not that sex with Sherlock wasn't fucking amazing – because it was – but John had always enjoyed oral sex, giving as well as receiving it, and missed that taste of pussy, sometimes to the point of distraction and at the most inconvenient times.

Like now, for instance, when he was sprawled out on the sofa in his and Sherlock's shared sitting room, naked, with Sherlock's head between his legs and his lovely mouth sucking on John's cock.

The man really was amazing at it, there were no two ways about it – that long, lovely throat of his swallowing down every inch of John's cock, taking in far deeper than any woman who'd ever put her mouth on him, his tongue darting out now and again to lick his bollocks – Christ, how could he even be thinking about anything else at a time like this?

The short answer, it appeared, was that he could. He could be in the middle of receiving a mind-blowing, er, blow job and still be wishing he was licking a woman's pussy at the same time. That thought ripped a groan from his throat as his fingers, which had been running through Sherlock's hair, tightened and dug into the other man's scalp. That in turn brought a growl of appreciation from Sherlock's throat, which only added to John's pleasure...and guilt.

He was pretty damned close to climaxing in spite of his mixed emotions – emotions he was too ashamed to share with Sherlock, the man who'd given up his much-ballyhooed virginity to his blogger and friend, the first man John had ever kissed let alone shagged. Close enough that he moaned out Sherlock's name, spreading his legs further apart and doing his best not to rut too hard into the other man's mouth.

Just as John felt the tell-tale tingling in his bollocks, he felt Sherlock withdraw himself and opened his eyes to see the other man leaning back on his heels, staring at him with a serious expression on his face.

Uh-oh. John eyed him warily; had Sherlock somehow read his ambiguity in his eyes, his body language, the way he groaned? Or was it something else entirely? Only one way to find out... "Sherlock? Something wrong?"

Unbelievably, Sherlock reached over and grabbed his mobile from the coffee table they'd pushed aside in their enthusiasm to start their long weekend together, a weekend with no cases (Lestrade was on a second or third or possibly fifth honeymoon with his wife), and no interruptions from Mrs. Hudson (off visiting her sister in Leeds). So why was Sherlock scowling at the mobile's screen as if he'd just receive a text he didn't want to read...oh God, John thought with an internal groan. "Not bloody Mycroft!" he muttered.

Sherlock shook his head, still looking irritated. "No, not Mycroft...not a text I've received, one I haven't received...Ah!"

His head swiveled to the flat's door, John automatically following Sherlock's gaze...and freezing at the sight of the knob turning. With a swear he went to jump to his feet and out of the room, only to be stopped Sherlock as he literally pounced on him, forcing him back onto the sofa with a startled "Oof!" and a great deal of flailing of various limbs as he attempted to extricate himself.

"Sherlock!" he hissed in a combination of mortification and exasperation. "Someone's coming!"

"I know! Isn't it fantastic? I thought she'd changed her mind, but clearly I was wrong!"

Sherlock was grinning broadly, raising John's suspicions. "She?" Who was "she," exactly? And why was "she" coming to the flat at this particular moment...and why the hell had Sherlock, who was clearly expecting her, whoever she was, arranged for the two of them to be interrupted like this?

As Sherlock continued to pin him to the sofa, lying across John's naked body, covering it with his own, equally naked, body, the door opened fully and the mystery woman was revealed to be...

"Molly! You're late!" Sherlock barked out as she closed the door behind her, clinging to the handle as if she wasn't sure she was going to stay. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the two men tumbled together on the sofa, and John felt a momentary horror rise up in his mind; had Sherlock asked her over without telling her what she might walk in on?

Apparently – and thankfully, although no less confusingly – not. "Take off your clothes and get over here before John pushes me onto the floor!" Sherlock ordered, although he was grinning maniacally as he did so.

John, meanwhile, had finally stopped trying to push Sherlock off his body, too busy staring open-mouthed as Molly Hooper, the quiet little pathologist who had helped Sherlock fake his death two years ago, unbuttoned her raincoat, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath it but a very tiny, very see-through green silk thong and a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings. "Give me a second, Sherlock," she said crossly, fighting with the last button which seemed not to want to come undone. With a huff of exasperation she gave up, simply allowing the raincoat to slide off her arms and onto the floor.

While John and Sherlock watched, she stepped over it with far more grace than she usually demonstrated before kicking it aside with one rather high-heel-clad foot – shiny black patent leather, John noted approvingly as he ran his eyes up and down her body, not quite believing what he was seeing but liking it a great deal.

"You've been very good about not saying anything, John," he heard Sherlock murmur in his ear as the other man finally moved so he was no longer covering John completely but instead lying behind him with his back against the sofa cushions. "However, this is me you're involved with. As soon as I deduced the cause of your discomfort, I knew the perfect solution." He flashed a smile at Molly, who had continued into the room and now stood directly in front of the two men, hands on her hips as she looked down at them. She was licking her red-painted lick in a very enticing manner, John noted distractedly as Sherlock commenced stroking his flank and moving his hips against John's backside in a very subtle – but very arousing – manner.

The sight of Molly staring avidly down at him combined with the feel of his lover moving against him served to reignite John's flagging erection, bringing it back to full strength within seconds.

"Molly was the one who suggested that a change in our relationship might be necessary if I was to keep you happy, John, since I am incapable of spontaneously growing a vagina and breasts" Sherlock said, still speaking in a throaty murmur, his hand occasionally reaching over to brush against John's cock before returning to his flank. "I take full credit, however, for being the one to ask her to join us once she helped me to understand that your desire for sex with women wasn't something that was likely to go away. I do hope you don't mind; we both – all three, actually – know that if it wasn't for the change in our relationship, I would have eventually turned to Molly."

"And I'm not just doing this to be close to Sherlock, John," Molly interjected as she sank to her knees and reached out to stroke John's cheek in a tender, loving gesture that was well matched by the expression on her face. "I've loved you both for so long, I was so happy you found each other but sad for myself at the same time, because you had what I wanted: each other." She lowered her eyes shyly as she made this confession, and John found himself reaching out to capture her hand as she pulled it away from his face.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" he asked curiously, trying to keep his gaze on her face rather than on her pert, lovely breasts – the same breasts that Sherlock had once disparaged as being too small. Which, for the record, they weren't. John had never thought so – well, perhaps when he first saw her, swimming in the baggy, shapeless jumpers she favored when working. No, they were perfectly shaped, just made to fit in the palm of man's hand.

He jerked his eyes back up as she answered his question. "I thought you were happy together, that you didn't need anyone else. And Sherlock was honest with me, he never lead me on or made me think things could be different between us – until he admitted that he'd had feelings for me ever since I helped him...well, you know. Back then," she muttered with an embarrassed blush as she referred to the time of Sherlock's Fall. "But by then you'd realized you were in love with him, so I told him the truth: that I understood and was happy that you'd found each other."

"What she didn't tell me – but I deduced it anyway," Sherlock said, taking up the thread of the explanation, "was that her feelings for you had changed during the two years I was away. She never fell out of love with me, but she'd begun to feel the same way about you. You were, however, busy drowning your sorrows in a string of one-night stands and short-term relationships so she kept her feelings to herself."

"I know you don't feel the same way about me," Molly continued when Sherlock fell silent. The two of them seemed determined to make John understand exactly what was being offered, and how it had come about, which was fine with him since he'd never even suspected that Molly had any interest in him outside of friendship. If he had, he reflected wryly, things might have been very different the two years Sherlock was away – very different, indeed. "But that's all right," Molly continued as his thoughts wandered. "You love Sherlock and I love Sherlock, and he wants to share us with each other, to give you what you need to make you completely happy. I know I'm not exactly a supermodel," she added with a self-deprecating shrug of her shoulders, "but now you know how I..."

Her rambling words were cut off as John reached out and pulled her to him for a heartfelt kiss. He was overwhelmed at what Sherlock and Molly were offering him, and even if this gift had selfish elements to it, well, he was being selfish too, wanting to have his cake and eat it...in the filthiest fashion way of interpreting that particular saying, to boot.

He deepened the kiss as Molly melted into his embrace, reveling in the feel of her breasts mashed against his chest, her tongue in his mouth, even as he reveled at the feel of Sherlock's talented, clever fingers as they encircled his rock-hard cock and threaded themselves through his hair, both hands on his body feeling so delicious he couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat.

Molly was moaning as well, her tongue gliding over his, her lips molded to his mouth, her hands on his shoulders. He didn't want to break the three-way embrace, but his desire to taste her was rapidly overtaking his other thoughts, and he found himself pushing her down onto the Persian rug until she lay flat on her back, eyes half-closed and lips parted, her breath coming in short gasps as she raised her knees and spread herself open for him.

Sherlock had left off holding him and was instead pushing at John's body, recognizing his partner's growing desire to bury his head between Molly's legs and suck on her pussy until she was nothing but a limp, trembling mess.

In short order he achieved that goal, his hands digging into her hips and his nose resting at the top of her pubic mound, his tongue lapping eagerly at her juicy wetness.

Sherlock had joined them on the floor, lying next to Molly and alternating between sloppy kisses and sucking her nipples into hard nubs that drove John even wilder with desire every time he looked up and saw them.

Once she'd come ("like a freight train," she'd describe it to him later) and he'd licked up as much of her as he could take in, he moved to lie on her other side opposite Sherlock, leaning down to take up the nipple his partner wasn't currently licking, working her back up again when she'd barely had time to come down from her orgasmic high.

He removed his mouth from her breast when he felt Sherlock's hand on his cheek, and the two men leaned over Molly's sweat-soaked, shivering body to exchange kisses. It was incredibly exciting to know that Sherlock was tasting her on John's lips, just as exciting as it was when he swallowed down John's cum but left just a trace on his lips in order for the other man to taste himself, something he'd never expected to enjoy even in his raunchiest, filthiest teenaged fantasies.

No matter how much he was enjoying kissing Sherlock, however, John did not forget the marvelous woman lying between them, not for a second. It had been almost a year since he'd fucked a woman, and he was dying to do so while she went down on his best friend – and wasted no time in letting the others know which way his mind was currently trending (_straight down the gutter, John Hamish Watson, and what a lovely descent it is_).

"Oh God, that's perfect!" Molly gasped out as Sherlock helped her to her knees, immediately taking her place on the floor, lying flat on his back and eagerly spreading his legs as she lowered her head and began stroking his cock with her tongue. John felt a jolt of arousal that seemed to start somewhere in his toes and shiver through every pore in his body. Molly's lovely arse was raised up and ready for him, the thong long since vanished (he'd find it the next day under the sofa) and the strip of her delicious pussy just peeking between her legs. He licked a path down the cleft of her arse, rimming her lightly with his tongue while she moaned and writhed against his face.

He grinned as he he inserted a single finger into her pussy, finding it as wet and ready for him as it had been when he'd put his tongue there. He pulsed it in and out of her in time with the movements of his tongue in her arse, shivering lightly every time he heard her moan and gasp – and every time he heard Sherlock's gasping breaths as well. Clearly this activity was doing as much for the consulting detective as it was for his pathologist and blogger.

Why oh why hadn't he paid closer attention to Molly before this? Oh, he knew the answer; he'd been too locked into his own feelings of grief and loss while Sherlock was "dead" to be able to notice much of anything else. The mindless sex he'd indulged in with woman after faceless woman during those two years was his way of coping; he'd never have even thought about treating Molly as nothing more than a fuck buddy the way those other women had been.

Well, she was certainly more than that to him now, no matter how raunchy their current positions. Speaking of which, his cock was throbbing, reminding him that he had an incredibly sexy woman to fuck right now. He removed his mouth and fingers from her – when had he inserted a second one into her cunt? No matter, since both were about to be replaced by his cock.

He thrust into her as deeply as he could, sinking into her welcoming warmth right up to his bollocks, groaning deeply as he did so. God, he'd missed this, missed the feeling of a woman's pussy wrapped around his cock, a sensation no blow job could ever replace. Thank God Sherlock had divined his need and found such a fucking incredible way to answer it.

"God, Sherlock, you know I fucking love you for this, right?" he gasped out as he wrapped on hand around Molly's hair and tugged it lightly. His other hand was hard on her hip as he moved in and out of her at a steady pace. "I fucking love you both for this, you have no idea," he growled as he felt Molly bucking back against him. "God, this feels so fucking good..."

As a blogger he was conscientious about not reusing the same adjective over and over again in the same paragraph, but as a man who was shagging a woman from behind while she went down on his male lover, he could care less how repetitious and unimaginative he might sound.

Molly was slurping desperately at Sherlock's cock; John could hear the sounds her mouth made as she frantically bobbed her head up and down the other man's shaft, just as he could hear the wet slapping sounds his body made as he sped up his own movements against her, reveling in the sounds they were making just as he'd reveled in the taste of her coming in his mouth. He was close, so fucking close, just a few more strokes and he was going to come inside her so hard, but he wanted to hold back, to let her come first, always be a gentleman his mother had admonished him although this wasn't exactly what she'd meant...

"It's OK, John," Molly gasped out as she felt him slowing down, forcing himself to ease back on his movements. She thrust against him for emphasis, taking Sherlock's shaft in her hand in order to look back over her shoulder at John. "Really, it's OK, God, it's better than OK, it's bloody fantastic, don't slow down, for God's sake, John, I want you to come, I want to feel it so bad, please, John..."

That did it. His hips sped up almost of their own accord before she finished speaking, both hands on her hips now as he reached the tipping point and tumbled over, pressing his body against hers and squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he came and came and came...

When he was able to think again, he found that he'd collapsed to the floor, and that Molly was now lying next to him, smiling dreamily at him while Sherlock busied himself between her legs, licking up John's cum before rising up to sit back on his heels, pulling Molly toward him as he did so. Her smile morphed into a gasp of surprise as Sherlock pressed his cock into her; she was going to be incredibly sore when this was over, John thought with the clinical portion of his mind; he'd have to run her a bath and throw in a liberal amount of Epson's salts once he and Sherlock were finished debauching her.

Sherlock was certainly doing his best to wear the poor girl out, giving her no time between John shagging her before putting her back to work, but judging by the avid expression on her face, it was work she was happy to be doing. Her thighs were on Sherlock's, their groins locked together as he leaned over her, resting on his hands over her body, stretching his head down to capture her lips in a hungry kiss. John decided he'd recovered enough to join in, reaching down to slide two fingers against her clit, feeling her buck and slide against him. He grinned and moved his other fingers to stroke against Sherlock's cock as it thrust in and out of Molly's cunt.

The two of them writhed and cried out as they achieved mutual orgasms not too many minutes later. John was impressed; unless Molly was faking it (and he'd seen enough Oscar-worthy performances from various women to recognize a fake orgasm when he saw it), then she'd just had her third orgasm in less than an hour. Pretty fucking amazing, and arousing; he felt a stirring in his dick as Sherlock pulled out of her and collapsed half on top of her, his arse raised up in a very inviting, very enticing position.

Oh, he had plans for that arse, lovely, wonderful plans that he couldn't wait to put into place. He grew steadily harder as he pictured Molly watching while he shagged Sherlock into an even limper mess than he already was at the moment.

The lubricant was sitting on the end table near his head; he grabbed it and positioned himself behind Sherlock, placing one hand on the other man's back as he made to raise himself up from his position half on top of Molly – who was watching John with wide eyes as he held up the tube of lubricant and untwisted the top, keeping his gaze meeting hers the entire time.

She licked her lips and gulped; John grinned, squirted the lubricant onto his fingers and smeared them across Sherlock's puckered opening. He heard the other man groan as he did so, and grinned; he'd never given him a dry orgasm and wondered if tonight, with Molly watching them, if he'd finally be able to manage it.

"Sherlock, tomorrow you're going to limp worse than I ever did," he whispered in his lover's ear, still watching Molly as he pressed his cock against Sherlock's hole, feeling the tip of it slide in and slowly but surely pressing himself deeper and deeper into the other man until he was fully seated inside him.

Molly seemed entranced, watching wide-eyed as John rocked against Sherlock, his hands caressing the other man's arse and hips. Sherlock's head was resting on Molly's chest, and her fingers were entangled in his sweat-dampened curls, clutching them tightly in a manner John knew from personal experience his friend found extremely arousing. He grinned to himself; good, maybe that dry orgasm was a real possibility after all. He positioned himself carefully, making sure to hit Sherlock's sweet spot over and over again until he obtained the result he wanted, hearing Sherlock cry out his name as his hands dug into Molly's arms and his mouth fastened on her nipple. That caused a bit of a ripple effect; Molly's hips bucked as if she, too were experiencing another orgasm, and that sight brought John shouting his own release far sooner than he'd expected to.

Somehow the three of them managed to disentangle themselves; somehow they made their way to Sherlock's bed and collapsed together in a heap, Molly in the middle, John snuggled up to her backside as she wound her arms around Sherlock's limp, exhausted form.

His last thought before drifting into sleep was that he was going to have to find some way of showing his gratitude and, yes, love, for the two amazing people lying next to him. Not that mind-blowing sex wasn't a fantastic way to express those feelings, but something a little more meaningful was called for.

Later. Right now all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Molly, feeling Sherlock's body against hers as he allowed sleep to claim him.


End file.
